


Post!SAINW - Mad Bomber Don

by bushidobunny



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types, teenage - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-09 21:30:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10422180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bushidobunny/pseuds/bushidobunny
Summary: This is a drabble inspired by my post!sainw roleplay with hogxsha. It was requested by the wonderful Winnychan who was curious about what it was Donatello was up to in the months he had abandoned April and The Resistance.Contains Mature ContentAlso, please do not ever Ever EVER mix the chemicals Don is working with. I did my research. That shit will blow you sky high. I am not joking. Do not try this at home.





	

Potassium Permanganate. It was an easy enough chemical to come by, in his own time. In this Hellish place… he had to call in some favors from some of his more unsavory contacts to obtain it. It was so simple a thing, yet it was so essential to his revenge.

The purple banded turtle was at the moment carefully applying a thin layer of gasoline to the smooth interior of one of the three enormous glass jugs that he had procured. He had expected to feel something… Anything. He hoped he would as he finally procured what he hoped would be a shell of a beginning to his retribution against Karai Legion. But as he moved the small amount of gasoline around the container, humming under his breath the terrapin could only describe his mental state as numb.

This numbness had begun to creep upon him shortly after he had seen his brothers fall. As each day passed, as he and April dug their graves by hand, each time he glanced at the bandanas tied in the center of his bo, the numbness had gained a stronger hold within him. He wanted to feel something. Anything.

When the jug was coated properly he stood and walked over to the pile of crates that served in his makeshift lab. A weak fluorescent bulb flickered above his head as he grabbed a balloon and brought it, a funnel and a can over to the oversized jug. He placed the rubber thing within the glass neck, hooking it around the edge, allowing him to repeat the process of filling the rubber with a thick paint. This one was a bright orange and when the balloon was full and tied off he let it fall to the bottom of the container and secured the lid.

It was almost dawn. Most of the legion soldiers would be returning to the many strongholds around the city after insuring that no one was on the street past curfew. Now or never.

He laced a length of rope through the thick handles on each glass jug and secured them to his shell. He grabbed the small canister of that he had sought for the last few weeks.

He slipped through the shadows of the city, taking the paths that he had diligently scouted out until he stood on the ledge of a high roof directly across from an ominous fortress, the crimson symbol of The Foot blazing into the gloom of pre-dawn.

Donatello placed the jugs before him and poured a carefully measured amount of his precious Potassium Permanganate into each and replaced the caps. Then it was a simple matter of waiting.

He did not have to wait long before he heard the tell tale wailing of the morning siren from the adjacent building and the troops began filing back to the fortress. It was time. He grabbed one of the jugs, raising it high above his head and proceeding to throw it with all his might into the middle of the throng.

The resulting explosion was breathtaking, the chemical equivalent of ten sticks of dynamite. He let out a “whoop” of satisfaction as the first assault look out a section of his enemies, blue paint and blood flying up to thirty feet in the air, coating the outer wall of the ninja stronghold.

Before they were able to sort out what happened Don had already heaved the second jug into their midst, red paint and the dark crimson of gore splattering against the asphalt as well as crumbling gate and portcullis.

The third jug was not intended for mortal devastation, but rather, to make a point. This one he threw directly at the gigantic crest emblazoned on the building. It was effectively destroyed, leaving only splattered orange paint in its wake. At the sight of his handiwork the turtle let out a laugh.

The sound was foreign to him. It was not the laugh he was used to hearing come from his lips, but rather a strained and maniacal sound which pierced the night like a macabre symphony as it was mingled with the screams of injured soldiers beneath him. It was a strangely satisfying sound. It was a sound that scared him.

The joy that the flames.. the blood and the screams brought him was a more terrifying realization than any he had recognized in this place. Even more terrifying than realizing he was stuck here. Stuck and alone.

But it was good to feel something. Anything.

He knew that it was unwise to linger. The Foot would get their wits about them soon and come looking for their attacker, so without wasting any time he slipped once again into the darkness of the city, humming his merry tune as he made his way back to the hovel he was calling home for the next few days. A grin was painted across his face as he sung out into the night.

“These are a few of my favorite things….”


End file.
